


Role Reversal

by hemustbeprettylo_ki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Baby Bisexual Harry Potter, Bisexual Draco Malfoy, Draco Volunteers As Tribute, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone is a lil bit gay, Exes being friends, Fluff and Smut, Harry Has Long Hair, Harry Potter Has Issues, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Harry's Gay Awakening Was Bill Weasley, Humour, I Don't Even Know, Ignore The Epilogue, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, M/M, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Self-Indulgent, fuck that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-06-14 15:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15392160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hemustbeprettylo_ki/pseuds/hemustbeprettylo_ki
Summary: Its been fifteen years since the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy is finally on his way to happiness. Harry Potter is not.





	1. Fifteen Years Later

**Author's Note:**

> Pure self-indulgence. Fight Me.

At the relatively young (by wizarding standards) age of thirty-two, fifteen years after the War, Draco Malfoy would like to say he was comfortable. Well, as comfortable as an ex-Death Eater, living in a corrupt magical society with a hatred for Death Eaters and a general reluctance to give anyone a hint of a second chance, could be. Still, Draco was lucky. He could have ended up like Goyle, who had actively participated in the murder and torture of Muggles and was now paying the price - a twenty year sentence in Azkaban. Draco knew he’d be lucky if Goyle lasted past five.

Through all its declaration to be unlike the previous Ministry, where excluded groups felt the only way their voices could be heard was to join a literal madman, the current Ministry really was no different - the Dementors still ran Azkaban, Werewolves were still denied free access to the Wolfsbane Potion...ex-Death Eaters lived under the constant threat of having their wands snapped and their magic bound. 

      Over half the Malfoy fortune had been stolen by the Ministry in the claimed war reparations - luckily Narcissa had inherited the entire Black fortune after the death of Sirius Black seeing as Narcissa was the only direct descendant of the Most Ancient and Noble House Black to not be incarcerated in Azkaban, despite the Ministry’s attempts to and luckily the damage done by “reparations” was less than it could have been. Other Houses with less significant finds were practically decimated and for the better part of three years, Pansy Parkinson had been living in a room in Draco’s three bedroom apartment in the Wizarding sector of Central London - just beside Highgate.    Although never a Death Eater herself, the horrific actions of Pansy’s parents had not gone unnoticed and her unfortunate comment during the Battle of Hogwarts, wherein she called the school to grab Potter and give him up to the Dark Lord, had inspired a vicious hatred within the Light side of the young girl and as such, Pansy’s family vaults had been drained, her parents executed, her grandmother trapped in the Janus Thickely ward and perhaps worst of all; her family manor was sold off to the highest bidder and was now open to the public as a relic to the war, as had Draco’s old wand which had the unfortunate circumstances of being the wand to slay the Dark Lord. Many a drunken night had been spent with Pansy sobbing into Draco’s shoulder, mumbling incoherently about how she’d been banned from seeing her grandmother, her parents buried in unmarked graves, unable to even go back home and get her belongings. Pansy had lost everything. The Ministry had come down hard on the children of Slytherin, even those who had fought against the Dark Lord - the bias was there and thriving and nobody cared. 

 

Still, it could have been worse. They could have had their wands snapped like Marcus Flint. Or been executed like the eldest Carrow child. No, Draco and Pansy were among the lucky few. Tracy Davis was now serving a three year sentence in Azkaban, Cassius Warrington was there for five, with only two more years to go. Draco was hyper aware of the fact that after they got out, they’d likely spend their lives in seclusion or in the JT Ward - in all honesty, Draco didn’t know which option he prefered.  

   But despite all of this, thirty-two year old Draco Malfoy was for the first time in a long while, genuinely happy with himself. Retreating to a dingy flat in Paris after his parents’ trial, six months after the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco had completed what was his long-time goal, finally able to now there was no longer a raging madman occupying his house. After seven long years of work under the highest qualified Potion Masters at the citadel in Paris, Draco Malfoy was now a qualified Master himself - just like his godfather. Not that Draco looked up to the man anymore. Distancing himself from the pettiness of youth, Draco had quickly realised how abusive Severus Snape had been and it was only out of a strange guilt that he kept the portrait of his godfather in the spare bedroom used mainly as a study/potions room. Also it kept Lucius from stumbling into the main study in Malfoy Manor and drinking himself into oblivion all the while crying out his apologies for leaving Severus alone with Voldemort which had led to his death, pleading with the dour man to forgive him despite Severus’ insistence that Lucius was “being a prat and he knew what he was getting into”. The portrait of his godfather had threatened to attempt to set himself on fire if Draco left him to listen to Lucius’ mindless babble any longer. Though that did not stop Lucius from Flooing over with copious amount of alcohol and spelling whiskey into the portrait so Severus could enjoy the libation too, locking the study door and staying there for hours until finally Lucius reemerged with slightly flushed cheeks and looking distinctly like a ruffled version of the albino peacocks he used to keep. Draco did not wish to know what happened in that room whilst the door was locked, though from Severus’ furious mutterings, Lucius was likely merely bemoaning about his luck and however he’d managed to piss of Narcissa that week.

 

Thanks to his father, Draco had been pressured into marrying in order to secure the Malfoy family line. Narcissa was able to arrange the entire farce and ensured that Draco’s wife would not be opposed to only sharing a bed to produce an heir. The lucky witch joined to Draco in matrimony was Astoria Greengrass, younger sister to Daphne Greengrass, a pretty blonde Slytherin in Draco's year, and a raging homosexual to boot. Astoria was probably as gay as they came and after their amicable divorce exactly three years ago, she had quickly set up a boutique in Paris’ magical sector with her now fianceé, a small, dark-skinned French witch by the name of Helena. 

    The best thing to happen to Draco in all fifteen years following the war was the birth of his son, who was rapidly approaching his seventh birthday, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. A small boy for his age, with grey eyes too large for his face and soft blonde hair that curled slightly as it brushed his shoulders.   For all of Lucius Malfoy’s faults, he was still a gracious grandfather who didn't mind teaching the young Malfoy how to care for long hair and well he was the best person to see, as Narcissa’s hair was only chin length and Draco’s barely reached his collar. Lucius on the other hand now possessed blond hair (streaked with grey after two stints in Azkaban) that reached the small of his back, his dedication to helping Scorpius maintain his blond locks was probably the man’s only redeeming feature - other than his impeccable taste in wine, brandy and whiskey. . 

 

So yes, fifteen years on with a wonderful son, a successful apothecary/potion business, a slowly mending relationship with his belligerent father, and a wonderful friendship with his ex-wife later, Draco Malfoy was finally happy. 

 

…. 

 

Until Harry  _ fucking  _ Potter staggered into Draco’s apothecary looking like he hadn’t sleep in months and still held the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. 

 

_ Oh bloody fucking hell.  _


	2. Dreamless Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is more broken than Draco expected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the wait, a levels are kicking my butt and my laptop died but now I'm back with a new chapter and the next one should be out soon .
> 
> Slight warning for drug/potion abuse. Harry is not a happy lad.

The day Harry Potter shuffled into  _ DLM’s Potions  _ was a nasty, overcast day with thick, heavy, grey clouds and the crackling of ozone in the air. Perhaps Draco should have predicted that the day would turn out as it did - if he’d ever actually paid any attention to the meanings of different types of weather considering how little he actually valued Divination lessons.  Still, it would have perhaps been helpful to know that the Saviour of the Wizarding World would appear in his shop, looking rather a worse for wear than expected from Golden Boy Potter.

 

   For a moment, there was silence. Draco froze where he stood behind the counter, reorganising a display of frogs’ eyes that Pansy had arranged in the wrong date order - he was definitely going to have to lecture her about proper stock rotation - honestly Draco had no idea about the etiquette behind the situation of having arch-rivals in your shop years after school and a bloody war.

 Potter seemed utterly oblivious, however, and limped over to the glass display case holding potions designed to help with sleeping, alongside a selection of little charms and precious gems aimed at encouraging restfulness and tranquillity, Draco found that keeping a piece of  _ agate dendritic  _ on his bedside table helped to calm his conflicting emotions during the redo of his seventh year. Potter looked as though he needed more than gemstones and crystals, however, honestly Draco suspected he needed something more along the lines of tea and intensive therapy. Potter’s green eyes were dulled and glazed over, with gunk collected at the corners, blue rings seemed to be firmly in place under each eye, making the bags under them look like fresh bruises. He was pallid and grey-toned beneath the tan of his natural skin, his cheekbones gaunt and hollow. Potter moved like one constantly plagued by joint or muscle pain, wincing with each step -  _ oh how the mighty fall _ .   Draco scowled, pushing away that final thought, he was no longer that stupid, vapid, stuck up little boy who didn’t know how to healthily process his emotions: he was a businessman and a father to boot, Draco was above such petty thoughts...so he cleared his throat.

 “Mr Potter, can I help you.” Draco leaned back, thankful for the stone counter behind him. Potter stiffened, turning that haunted gaze to Draco for a short moment. 

“Malfoy?” Potter croaked, coughing away the creaking in his voice, “What are you doing here?” Draco watched, a brow cocked in amusement as Potter hobbled towards the counter, he still hadn’t grown very much.

“Did you not read the sign, I own this business?” Absently, Draco noted he had crossed his arms over his chest, and the scars from the  _ Sectumsempra _ incident in the bathroom all those years ago twinged under his pressed, white shirt as if remembering the pain of the dark curse eating away at his flesh. The scars never faded, the  _ sempra  _ part of the incantation rang true he supposed, the pain never really left either, every now and then Draco would wake, crying out as the scars turned ugly red and burned.

  “Oh,” Potter replied dully, “S’pose everything worked out alright, after-”

“After the trial and eighth year, yes, it did.” Instantly Draco regretted sounding so snappy, he saw Potter’s full-body flinch and uneasy expression so he did his very best to sound neutral and professional in his next words. “As I said before, is there anything I can help you with, Mr Potter?”

“Harry, just Harry,” Potter mumbled, probably purely out of instinct by now.  Potter cleared his throat, clasping his slightly dirty hands together, tugging at his fingers. “Um, I’m looking for some Dreamless Sleep.” Potter shifted from foot-to-foot, seeming jumpy and unsure of himself.

“Do you have a prescription from your Healer?” Draco asked, picking up the keys that would unlock the cabinet for the prescription-only potions.

“No, do I really need one?” Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Yes Potter, you do, Dreamless Sleep potions are incredibly addictive and have been proven to be dangerous in some cases where people don’t know the correct measure to consume, I’m afraid that even the Saviour himself needs a prescription.”  As he spoke, Draco couldn’t help but notice Potter shrinking in on himself, hunching over so his already baggy clothes seemed to swallow his smaller frame - honestly, he probably had a whole fortune at his fingertips and he didn’t even buy decent clothing, Draco shuddered the think this was the future of the Pureblood heirs.

 “Well, what can I get without a bloody prescription.” The brief moment of anger in Potter’s tone faded as abruptly as it appeared, “I just need something to help me sleep, preferably one that stops  _ dreams. _ ” Draco knew all about not wanting dreams, although over time he had been able to suppress the nightmares using therapy and mediation, Potter, it appeared, had not been able to, although apparently not for lack of trying. 

“Did you perhaps go on Dreamless Sleep before.” It was more out of curiosity than professional interest, though Draco did need to know if Potter was agreeable to certain ingredients that were based in most sleep potions.

“Yes, my Healer took me off them last year.” Potter bit out.

“Well it was probably to prevent addiction,” Draco said, moving out from behind the counter and going over to the cabinet of various potions and teas designed for sleeping. Potter muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “ _ too late _ ” and Draco felt a lead weight settle in his stomach.   He cleared his throat, turning to face Potter who was hovering a few feet away, anxiously eyeing the cabinet adjacent which contained Dreamless Sleep and a potent Sleeping Draught as of yet unnamed by St Mungo's.   “Have you tried anything else, herbal remedies or alternative potions.” Draco’s eyes landed on a particularly helpful blend of dried herbs meant to be diffused in hot water of lavender, valerian root, and crushed celestite crystal. It was particularly effective if the water used had been charged by the moon as to prompt a cleansing of the system as well as a good night's’ rest. 

 “They didn’t work, nothing seems to work.” Potter looked rather defeated, his tone was dull his posture slumped, he looked like he did at the end of the battle of Hogwarts, like a puppet whose strings were cut and now he didn’t know what to use to hold himself up. “I’ll just...I’ll just go, thanks.” Potter sighed, turning to walk towards the open door.

“Wait,” Draco blurted, “Come into the back.” 

“I’m sorry?”

Draco sighed, straightening his posture into something he hoped was assertive. 

“Come with me into the back, its the staff room, I’ll make you some tea and we can discuss your options. Obviously, you need help and I’ll be damned if I let you sneak off to the nearest backstreet seller who’ll give you a highly addictive potion which could ruin you, Potter.” For a moment Potter actually looked shocked, but then his features dropped into their default blank expression.

“Don’t you read the paper’s, Malfoy, I’m already ruined.” Potter huffed self-deprecatingly, Draco felt himself bristle at being rebuffed.

“I’ve made it a rule to never read a single paper that Skeeter has her vile claws in, not since I sued her for character defamation after she wrote that lovely article about my son actually being the product of an affair between my ex-wife and the Dark Lord.” Draco twirled the ring of keys around one finger, smirking slightly as he remembers the look of pure indignation on Rita Skeeter’s face when she was slapped with a ban on writing anything else on the Malfoy family.   “But you’re not here to talk about the fact you’re ruined or whatever, Potter, you’re here so you can get some sleep because dear gods, you look like you need it. So, as a licensed Potions Master with medicinal qualifications, I’m telling you to get in the back room and sit down before I make you!” It had been a while since Draco had felt the strong instincts to help someone, the last time was when Pansy showed up with a tiny suitcase and her wand, due to having lost everything, but the moment he laid eyes on Potter and how haggard the poor sod looked, Draco couldn’t help but feel an urge to just  _ help, _ in any way he could. Blaise and Pansy referred to it as his fretting instinct and had made it clear that Draco had inherited that particular trait from his mother - in all honesty, Draco had no room to argue and merely thought it easier to agree to what was likely the truth in any case.

   Still, he was pleasantly surprised to see the stubborn pout form on Potter’s face as he trudged in the direction that Draco pointed to, pushing through the swinging lilac door quite violently.  Draco took a moment to remind himself that the war was a long time ago and old school rivalries should be laid to rest, before promptly entering the staff room and setting to work. 


End file.
